Let Sleeping Soldiers Lie
by mercuric
Summary: There was a reason why people said the road to Hell was paved with good intentions.


Disclaimer: _Batman: Under the Red Hood_ isn't mine. No copyright infringement intended.

Tag(s): Canon Temporary Character Dearth, Past Harm to Children

* * *

**"It has been reported that some victims of torture, during the act, would retreat into a fantasy world from which they could not ****_wake up._**** In this catatonic state, the victim lived in a world just like their normal one, except they weren't being tortured. The only way that they realized they needed to ****_wake up_**** was a note they found in their fantasy world. It would tell them about their condition, and tell them to ****_wake up._**** Even then, it would often take months until they were ready to discard their fantasy world and ****_PLEASE WAKE UP._****" – Author Unknown**

* * *

Since Sarajevo, Bruce has taken to touching him. Not the _bad_ kind of touching, although even if it was, Jason's not entirely sure if he'd do anything about it. Bruce has given him a lot over the few short years he's been at the Manor, and if there's one thing he's learned on the streets, it's that nothing comes for free. Nothing. So he spent about half of his first year at the Manor wondering when the other shoe would drop, wondering when Bruce would demand compensation and what a billionaire who had everything and the money to buy even more could possibly want from a street rat like him. He grew out of that expectation eventually, but he won't be surprised if it turns out that he was wrong and Bruce _does_ want something.

The point is that Bruce's touching him a lot nowadays, but not the bad kind of touch. It's a kind of touch he's never encountered before, so he doesn't really know what to call it.

Sometimes when they pass each other in the halls, Bruce grips his shoulder like he's reminding himself that Jason's okay, that he's alive, before continuing to walk off, and when Bruce ruffles his hair, his hand stays just a bit longer than it used to.

Jason doesn't know how he looked when Bruce found him in that warehouse, doesn't know what Bruce saw—everyone's keeping mum about it, no matter how many times, or how obnoxiously, he asks—but he figures it was pretty bad, so he lets the old man do what he wants. He grumbles, yeah, but only 'cause he's too old for this sort of shit. For the most part, he doesn't swat Bruce's hand away like he would've before Sarajevo.

(It totally isn't because he _likes_ the touching. He doesn't need a fucking reminder that Bruce actually likes him and cares about him. He's not _that_ pathetic.)

Alfie, on the other hand, has totally gotten lax about him eating cookies before dinner. Sure, the butler will still frown disapprovingly, but for the most part, he doesn't say anything or try anything to stop him. And Jason, he doesn't take advantage of the cookie-thing often, not only because he isn't that much of a douche, but also because he's currently in a wheelchair, he can't lift his arms all that much, and the counter's kind of high.

No way in fucking hell he'll ask someone to put the cookie jar someplace lower so he can get to it, though. First off, asking that is like admitting that it hurts like a bitch to raise his arm high enough to get to the damn jar—which it _doesn't,_ he just doesn't feel like going through the trouble of raising his arm and secondly, he ain't a fucking _baby._ He's not going to cry just 'cause he can't get to a couple of cookies. He's survived the first twelve years of his life without cookies, so he's pretty damn sure he can go a couple more months without them.

But yeah. After Sarajevo, things just … things just got a little better. Bruce's starting to actually show that he cares, instead of leaving Jason to half-wonder if he really does, and Alfie's gotten super lenient about things. Life, for Jason, can't get any better.

(It can. Babs can suddenly have a miracle, not need her wheelchair anymore, and take up the Batgirl mantle again. Dickface can suddenly become less of a douche, not hate him as much, and, you know, actually _talk_ to him instead of yelling. But whatever. Jason's going to take what he can get. He's lived without for long enough to know not to be too selfish and ask for impossible things.)

(He still wishes, though, and he hates that part of himself.)

..

About two weeks after coming back from the hospital, Jason's cleared for school. He still can't walk for long, can barely stand for an extended period of time, so Bruce's forcing him to take the damn wheelchair to school. All of his protests were met with raised eyebrows, courtesy of both Bruce and Alfie.

Bastards.

He really, really doesn't want to go back to school, let alone in a wheelchair—it'll make him look vulnerable, and looking vulnerable got people in some deep shit on the streets—but he's missed too much of school as it is. He already has to repeat a grade and attend summer school—which is fucked up, in his opinion; can't a guy get beaten with a crowbar, blown up by the Joker, and spend the next four months in a coma without having to worry about _summer school?_—and if he misses any more days, they'll have no other choice but to expel him.

Apparently, not even Bruce's money was enough to change that.

(Bruce tried, and that was the only reason the school didn't expel him already.)

Predictably, everyone stares. He's the kid who got horribly, _horribly_ mugged while on a business trip to Sarajevo with Bruce, _and_ he's Bruce Wayne's charity case, so of course everyone stares. They always stare.

_Unpredictably,_ the teachers don't give him shit. They don't scowl and mutter under their breath when he doesn't understand something—he supposes that's 'cause this time he has a legit reason for not getting it and not because he isn't paying attention, but _details_—and they don't say shit like how Dickface could've done this better or how Dickface would've known how to answer this.

It's so damn disconcerting that he's pinched himself, like, eleven times in just one class alone to see if this is some freaky dream.

It isn't, which is just plain _weird._ These teachers all hate him, he knows that, but they haven't said anything about how he's only a street rat that Bruce took pity on and how Bruce's charity is wasted on him or shit like that.

Although, he supposes that might have something to do with the fact that he was near-death only four months ago. Even these bastards aren't heartless enough to say that so soon after the hospitalization.

"All right, class, take out your copy of _Julius Caesar_, and turn to page ninety-one."

With one of his arms still in a sling, it's a bit hard to rifle through his bag to look for the damn book, and he half-hopes that he forgot it, but no, Alfie wouldn't let that happen. Guy packed his backpack, and sure enough, _Julius Caesar_ is in there.

Fuck.

He opens the book to page ninety-one and blinks when he sees a red sticky note on the page.

_Wake up,_ it says, the words looking like they were printed onto the note.

_The hell,_ he thinks, peeling the note off his book. Is this some sort of prank? It can't be. Only Bruce and Alfie has access to his backpack, and neither of them are the type to prank. Maybe he put the note there himself as a reminder not to fall asleep through _Julius Caesar_? That idea's immediately shot down as well. The class only started reading _Julius Caesar_ two weeks ago, give or take, and he only just got out of the hospital then. Besides, how could he have known that they'd start on page ninety-one the day he came back to school? No way he could've typed up and printed this note.

And another thing: He wouldn't have bothered to type up and print anything. He would've just written it himself, and even if he _did_ bother to type the note up and print it, he would've remembered. Probably. His memory's been spotty at best lately.

Then who?

"Mr. Todd, pay attention."

He grunts in response and crumples the note. He'll look into it after school.

..

He falls asleep in the limo that Alfie drove to pick him up. He falls asleep and wakes up with his mouth open in a muted scream.

Alfie, unflappable as always, doesn't stomp on the brakes. He calmly turns on the turn signal, slows to a gentle stop, and parks the limo at the side of the road.

"Master Jason," Alfie says worriedly, twisting to look over his shoulder, but he doesn't ask. Doesn't ask what he dreamt about and doesn't ask stupid questions like if he's all right.

Jason just shakes his head and croaks out, "Keep driving, Alfie."

He doesn't sleep for the next two days. He would've stayed up longer, damn the consequences, but Bruce, the bastard, laces his coffee with a sleeping pill, and he's out like a light.

The note completely slips his mind.

..

"So, let's try and clear this up, okay, pumpkin? What hurts more? A?"

_Thwack!_

"Or B?"

_Thwack!_

"Forehand?"

_Thwack!_

"Or backhand?"

_Thwack!_

He mumbles something, or tries to anyway. As expected, Joker bends down to his face.

"A little louder, lamb chop. I think you may have a collapsed lung. That always impedes the oratory."

He musters up the strength to spit in the fucker's face, and he gets his head slammed onto the floor for the effort. Hurt like a bitch, but so, so worth it.

"Now, that was rude! The first Boy Blunder had some manners. I suppose I'm going to have to teach you a lesson or two so you can better follow in his footsteps." A pause. "Nah. I'm just gonna keep beating you with this crowbar."

The laughter echoes and echoes and echoes.

Jason doesn't scream as he flinches into an upright position, as he scrambles out of the covers and falls to the carpet with a loud, jarring _thud._ He just bites down on his lip until it bleeds, until Bruce and Alfie come running in and try to get him to stop, but he doesn't scream.

(The streets have long since taught him not to scream.)

..

Jason doesn't remember the sticky note until the Monday of next week when he finds another one stuck on the inside of his locker.

_Wake up,_ it says, underlined and everything.

He tears the note down and slams his locker shut.

Whoever's doing this has balls for breaking into his locker like that, and he's itching to teach the bastard a lesson.

He won't admit it, doesn't realize it, to be honest, but he's a lot like Bruce in this aspect. They're both possessive and territorial, and they both hate having strangers in what they consider their territory. Bruce has learned to hide it, at least when he's playing Bruce Wayne and not Batman, but Jason hasn't. Whether he's Jason Todd the street kid billionaire Bruce Wayne pitied and took under his wing or Robin the smart-mouthed kid partner of the Dark Knight, he's a possessive and territorial son of a bitch.

He's also a violent fucker, and violence, possessiveness, and territoriality do not mix. Ever.

..

Jason spends the rest of the week and the week after that hunting down the bastard who broke into his locker. He's unsuccessful at every turn, can get no leads, and each time he meets a dead end, he feels like a goddamn _failure_ because he's _Robin,_ Batman's protégé. He's the fucking protégé of the World's Greatest Detective, and he can't even find the high school kid—or faculty member, he isn't that narrow-minded, or well-liked—who broke into his locker.

He punches the punching bag until his knuckles are almost bleeding and he literally cannot punch anymore without feeling like his lungs will implode.

"Jason?"

He spins, hackles raised, ready to attack, but forces himself to relax when he sees it's just Bruce, who raises up in the universal "I come in peace, so please don't bite my head off or hang me by my balls" gesture.

"Yeah?" he pants out, only barely managing to refrain from growling a sharp _What?_ He's gotten good at not snapping at people lately, but that's only because he's still injured and bandaged like a mummy. He knows better than to snap at people and threaten them when he can't back anything up.

(The one time he snapped and threatened without being able to back it up, he ended up with a fractured arm, three broken ribs, and a black eye. It would've been much worse, like _corpse_ worse, but he managed to get back in the game mid-fight, so yeah, all was good.)

(That was the day he learned that a tire jack made for a wonderful weapon, especially when he was sick and burning up.)

Bruce doesn't say anything, just looks from Jason and then to the punching bag. He doesn't sigh, doesn't raise his eyebrow in that "What in the world do you think you're doing?" way he does sometimes. What he _does_ do is tell him that dinner's ready and that Alfie's expecting him.

Jason nods, and as he wipes the sweat off his face with his towel, Bruce turns.

Jason drops his towel.

There's a note on Bruce's back.

_Wake the fuck up, goddamn it!_

..

The notes start appearing a bit more frequently after that, and rather than being pissed off like he should, he can't help but feel terrified. He has a stalker and that stalker knows about his identity as Robin. He's sure of this because there was sticky note on his utility belt the other day.

Exactly _how_ the note ended up on his utility belt, he doesn't know, and that only serves to freak him out even more.

It's _his_ fault. It has to be. There's no way Bruce would be careless enough to let someone find out The Secret, and since the stalker-psycho-fan's targeting him, he's probably the one who fucked up.

(He's hoping, really, really hoping, that Bruce's Bruce Wayne persona is so air-tight that the stalker only knows that he's Robin. He's hoping that maybe the stalker hasn't connected Bruce to Batman. Unlikely, but he still hopes.)

But that's not why he's terrified. He's not terrified that Bruce will find out and disown him or something (except that he is). He's terrified because now he can't go more a day or two without a note popping up and telling him in some variation, usually with curses, to wake up.

And the thing is, no one seems to notice. No one notices these sticky notes, which sort of explains how the stalker bastard managed to get one on Bruce, and _that's_ why he's so freaked out. _No one can see the notes._ Does that mean the notes are a part of some elaborate illusion? Is the illusion aimed at him or everyone around him? What meta's strong enough to make this big an illusion anyway? He knows every powerful, existing meta out there—the power-rating system was devised by Bruce, of course, and he's had to memorize all the names listed under Level Four and up—and none of them can make an illusion like this. He _knows_ none of them can. That means some psychotic freak's recently activated his meta-gene, and who knows what else he can do given the time to hone his powers?

Jason curls under his blanket and refuses to leave his bed, not even for food or school. The only times he dares to leave his bed is for the bathroom—no way he's pissing or shitting on his bed—and for his physical therapy sessions because he wants out of that wheelchair ASAP. Yeah, he's gotten better and can now use the punching bags, but he still can't walk for long, and he wants to _walk,_ to run and fly and fight as Robin.

(He doesn't tell Bruce or Alfie about the stalker. They don't deserve having to deal with a kid like him who's more trouble than he's worth, he knows that, but they don't. Otherwise, they would've already gotten rid of him. And since they don't know, he doesn't _want_ them to ever find out. It's selfish, but he's never claimed to be selfless. He'll just keep the stalker a secret, and they won't find out that he screwed everything up again. It's not like they have to know, and he'll figure out a way to fix this, he will, so really, there's no point in telling them.)

..

He wakes up one day to a sticky note attached to his forehead.

_FOR FUCK'S SAKE, WAKE THE FUCK UP, YOU FUCKING WEAK-ASS FUCK!_

He screams.

..

Bruce brings up therapy. He sounds more than a little worried, which is the only reason Jason doesn't tell him to fuck off.

He does, however, flip him the bird.

..

He eventually gets out of bed, but only because he's finally healed enough to walk and do Robin stuff without a hitch and managed to convince Bruce to let him be Robin again.

He may have also declared that he wouldn't ever leave his room if he isn't allowed to put on his cape again, but whatever works.

The costume feels right like nothing ever has—even though it's a lame costume that Bruce won't let him change to his liking, which is _seriously_ unfair—and when he flies through the air, he laughs for the first time since … well, since Sarajevo. He smiles and laughs, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the corners of B's mouth curl upwards in a small smile.

He finally feels like he's really and truly back home, feels like everything's finally back to normal.

He lands on top of a building—can't remember which one—when he notices a red piece of paper on the roof. His heart practically stops, and with a shaking hand, he goes to pick up the note.

_Please wake up._

What? How? How could this note be here? He didn't even know he was going to land here until just now, so how the _hell_ could the stalker have put this here? Did the stalker have clairvoyant abilities, too?

He can feel himself hyperventilate.

Large hands gently land on his shoulders and turn him around.

"Robin?" B asks, his voice gruff, gravelly, and concerned.

"I …" Jason swallows down the bile and whatever it was that kept him from going to B with this on day one. "I think I have a stalker."

He shows B the note.

B moves to take the note, but before he does, laughter suddenly descends down from the skies like a physical thing, _Joker's_ laughter, and it's everywhere, and he can't make it stop, can't make it stop, can't—

He opened his eyes—when had he closed them?—and found himself punching the glass window of a store and then at a TV. But the TVs next to it continued to play the news footage, the footage of the Joker being transported to Arkham Asylum after a six-month stay at Gotham General's ICU.

What the hell?

Just, what the hell?

He staggered away from the TVs, ignoring the pain in his knuckles, and ran. Ran away from the TVs and the laughter. He ran until his legs ached and collapsed by what looked like a small lake.

His breaths came in sharp, painful gasps, like he hadn't run all-out in a long while, which didn't make sense 'cause he'd been going to physical therapy lessons and everything. As he tried to calm himself, he caught a glimpse of his reflection in the water. Water that was clear and sort of dark, but not glowing green, not green and sinister and painful and—

_Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop!_

His eyes widened, and he remembered, but that couldn't be right. That couldn't be right because Ra's would never do something like that, would never do anything for Bruce.

Except there was a white streak in his reflection's hair, pure white, not super pale blonde, and he _knew_ he'd never dyed his hair that color.

He had to make sure, needed proof that he was being crazy, that Ra's hadn't revived him, that the explosion hadn't killed him.

So he yanked off his shirt and looked at his reflection again, wanting to see with his own eyes his scarred che—

He stared.

There were scars, all right, but not the scars he was used to, not the scars he'd expected to see. Almost half his torso looked fresh, new, and soft, like a baby's skin, and a fourth of it consisted of a huge, ugly burn scar, and—

_Pain, water, can't breathe, can't breathe!_

He shook like a fucking leaf in the middle of a tornado and slowly backed away from the water. Bile rose up from his stomach, and he turned to the side and puked, the acid burning the inside of his throat.

_Just kill me now, for God's sake, just kill me now, I don't want this, I don't want this, I don't want this!_

The Pit. Oh God, _the Pit._ Joker and the explosion and Ra's and the _Pit._

_I want to die, please, I'd rather die than this!_

It … it was fake. His memories of the past six months, of being back home at the Manor and flying through Gotham as Robin by Bruce's side (of being _safe_), every last one of them weren't, and had never been, real. They were all fake, fake, _fake._

_Bruce! Bruce!_

Why couldn't they have just let him stay dead?

* * *

Inspired by: "Jason lost a lot that night" by kiotsukatanna (found at DeviantArt)

I know that what happened with Jason wasn't exactly him being in a catatonic state; it was more like he was in a semi-catatonic state or something along that line. Don't know if that's actually possible, but it probably can be in a universe with psychopathic, mass-murdering clowns and a pit of glowing green water that can revive the dead.


End file.
